All Mine
by RiverGoddess75
Summary: Brief character study of our favorite Russian agent through the eyes of the woman who loves him. Kirill/OFC. COMPLETE, M/F, Oneshot, PWP


He's in the ocean. His long, lean body cuts through water so impossibly blue that she almost wants to invent a new word for the color, and as he surfaces and looks back at her she smiles, her eyes hidden by dark sunglasses.

Even now he feels the need to check on her, making sure she's still there. He hasn't learned yet. She's not going anywhere.

Four months. She's been with him for four months, and in that time she's come to understand him – probably better than anyone else on earth, she's pretty sure. She knows the darkness in him, had seen the emotionless killer surface on more than one occasion. And maybe her psyche is a little twisted, but she's fascinated by it.

He isn't a kind man, even on a good day. On days like this, he can sometimes be cold and distant, even cruel. He's never hurt her – not on purpose, anyway. But when he's haunted by the ghosts of his past he's almost always volatile, and she's learned to give him his space until he comes looking for her. He always does.

Like now, as he makes his way out of the water and up the beach to where she's reclining on a lounge chair, relishing the warmth of the sun after so long in the cold. "Come," he says, and she rises without a word and follows him.

He leads her into the bungalow that sits right down on the water, closing the door behind them and lowering the shade that faces the shore. She pulls off her sunglasses and drops them on the nightstand, meeting his gaze. His eyes are dark, intense, and she shivers. He pulls her into his arms and she leans against him, watching the progress of a water droplet as it works its way down his neck to the hollow of his throat. Without thinking about it, she dips her head and kisses the spot where the drop paused, right beside a tiny freckle that may be one of her favorite places on his body.

One of many.

He brings her mouth up to his, kissing her deeply and without reservation. This is the only time she can feel like he's really hers, when he's lost in the moment and the walls come down enough for her to see the man that he once was, the man he could be.

Sometimes she wishes she'd known him before they made him into this.

She would never be foolish enough to believe that he loves her. He isn't capable of that emotion, though she knows he feels something for her – he's proven on many occasions that he cares for her, that he's concerned about her well-being, but that's a far cry from love. She's a strange mix of friend, mother, lover, possession – all of these things at any given time fit her, and she's comfortable with the roles that she's adopted. He needs her, and she's happy to be needed.

He leads her into the bathroom now, turning on the water in the shower and adjusting the temperature.

She lets him tug the straps of her suit off, pushing his shorts down over his slim hips before they step under the spray. His hands are everywhere on her, caressing her breasts and slipping down between her legs to explore the damp heat at her core, his callused thumb brushing over her clit making her gasp, and she touches him as well. His head falls back and his eyes close when she takes him in her hand, stroking the hard flesh of his cock with a firm grip.

It isn't until she's on her knees in front of him that he realizes what she has in mind. He starts to say something but her lips close around him and the words are lost on a strangled sigh. She's never done this for him before and she concentrates on bringing him as much pleasure as she can, learning from the subtle sounds he makes what he enjoys and what drives him absolutely wild. She takes as much of him into her mouth as she can and applies gentle suction, and he buries his hands in her hair and groans. And when she flicks her tongue to the underside of his cock and hums softly under her breath he pulls her away, gasping for breath.

"Jesus…"

Before she can complain about not being allowed to finish, he brings her to her feet and picks her up, wrapping her legs around his hips as he buries himself in her in one hard stroke. Her back is pressed against the wall and his hands are supporting her under her ass as he drives up into her heat desperately. She revels in the knowledge that she's pushed him beyond his ability to reason, that she's caused the tightly-controlled assassin to lose himself completely in her.

She's being forced closer to her own orgasm as he thrusts into her willing body, the cool water still cascading down over them as he increases his speed and force, and she knows she won't be walking right tomorrow, though frankly she couldn't care less. This is worth any discomfort.

When she's so close she can almost taste it, he moves to take a nipple in his mouth, sucking and licking the taut flesh, and it drives her over the edge. She comes so hard she sees stars, and she clings to his shoulders as she stiffens and thrashes against him. Moments later he surges into her and she can feel his strength, his arms clutching her to him. He shudders and groans, his eyes on her as he spills himself into her body.

A few moments later he slips out of her and sets her down, her legs trembling as she tries to hold up her own weight. It's easier said than done.

Then he does something that surprises her. He takes the bar of soap and proceeds to wash her gently, carefully, his strong, callused fingers working the lather over her skin as if she were fragile as glass. She leans back against him and lets his hands do what they will, luxuriating in the feel of being cared for. It's another moment that she never expected, and she tries not to wonder what it means.

When they're finished with their shower and he's dried her off with the towel, he leads her to the bed and lays her down, still slightly damp and completely naked. It's a warm afternoon, and the cool sheets feel wonderful on her skin as she stretches out and reaches for him. He settles down beside her, one arm slipping around her waist. He doesn't pull her to him, instead choosing to watch her with his heavy-lidded gaze, and she smiles faintly at him.

"What are you thinking?" she asks. He's never answered the question yet, but she keeps trying.

She knows they'll be leaving soon. It's been six days, and that pushes the limits of how long he's comfortable staying in any one place. He's been pacing like a caged animal, but now he seems to be content to stand with her at the water's edge and watch the sun disappear over the horizon in a violent explosion of reds and oranges and pinks, sunsets like they have never seen anywhere else.

"I'm ready to go when you are," she says softly, and he looks at her.

This place has been paradise, a brief respite from the harsh, unforgiving landscapes of the cities where they usually hide themselves. But he's still him, still hunted and haunted, and she can't help but follow him back into the darkness once more. It's what she knows now, and she'd willingly trade all of the sunsets from here until forever if he'll just keep looking at her like he is at this moment.

"Too much sun." He traces a finger down the tip of her nose, which is pink from exposure to the tropical sunshine. The gesture is surprisingly sweet.

His skin is golden, nearly bronzed, and she smirks at him. "How does a Russian tan like you do?"

"Just lucky," he says, shrugging. And then he pulls her into his arms, her back resting against his chest, and presses a kiss to the side of her neck. "Always been lucky."


End file.
